


Clothes Make the Woman

by Deathstar510



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Meetings, I kind of hint that way but it's not very heavy, Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: Ishka has worked hard to get where she is, but meeting Lwaxana brings opportunities that she'd never thought she'd find.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [DS9 Reverse Bang](http://ds9reversebang.tumblr.com) to accompany [this gorgeous fanart](http://girliewilson.tumblr.com/post/151351668892/my-art-for-ds9reversebang-im-sad-that-lwaxana) by Girlie Wilson.
> 
> A fic with Lwaxana, Ishka, and Garak in it was a task to take on for the sheer amount of sass that the room fills with but I hope that I did the art justice!

Somehow, despite the Ferengi’s well known (and deserved) reputation for their attitudes toward females, people always managed to act surprised to hear that Ishka didn’t consider her clothing ‘feminine’.  As if the phrase itself wasn’t a complete oxymoron to a Ferengi.  Clothing designed for females was less sensible than party supplies and liquor marketed to Vulcans.  She had dresses and plenty of them, which she’d only found out scanned as feminine to much of the universe _after_ she left Ferenginar, but on a planet where fabric itself was male by default, that didn’t mean much.

To any Ferengi, she was crossdressing no matter what she may choose to wear and, unfortunately, that meant that none of her outfits fit particularly well either.  Ferengi clothing was always made to be taken to a tailor after purchase, right off the rack they sagged in all the wrong places.  Ill fitting clothes marked a man that couldn’t afford tailoring and, as such, a man that could be dismissed as not having the lobes for business.  Or, in her case, a woman who had plenty of lobes and the money to show it but simply had no one willing to fit them for her without running off to the FCA to yell about this clothed female.

Off Ferenginar, though, most didn’t seem to pay attention to details like that.  Lwaxana, she would soon find out, was not most people.

Really, she should have known that from just the sight of the elaborate pink updo that adorned her head.  The one unfortunate thing about Ferengi not being blessed with hair – Ishka would pay good money to see businessmen attempting to outdo each other with ever more elaborate hairstyles.  Maybe they’d even get so caught up in it that they’d stop prying into her business affairs.

The bright smile had been the second thing to draw Ishka’s attention, natural enough that it softened the words that followed.  “The fabric of that is beautiful, but the fit could use some work.”  Somehow that didn’t come through as an insult.  A minor miracle when dealing with a Ferengi, nearly anything could be construed as a backhanded slap to the face when it came to a people that thrived on passive aggression, but when faced with such a sincere look, Ishka could actually tell no offense was intended.

She set her drink back down on the bar – free with the family discount, which she’d pressured Quark into creating specifically for her visit.  “Unfortunately, this fit is as good as I can get where I’m from.  Ask a Ferengi tailor to take something in for a female and there’s no telling what kind of mess they’d make of it.  Assuming they didn’t pass out from the request.”  She returned that smile, her own sharp toothed and twisted in comparison to Lwaxana’s perfectly straight Betazoid teeth, but no less sincere.  “You on the other hand, don’t look like you have that sort of problem.”

She caught Quark’s gaze out of the corner of her eye, gesturing down towards her drink and then to Lwaxana.  The face he made in response to the silent request was so pinched and sour that it would be better suited for a man walking into the vault of eternal destitution then a bartender.  Though, perhaps, he might as well have been heading for destitution as Ishka had already swindled him into giving her one free drink.  Two must have been absolutely _paining_ him.

But, a deal was a deal between Ferengi.  And that deal was free drinks for his mother.  Quark placed it on the bar with an absolutely winning, completely fake smile before dodging off to disappear into the crowd.  He really was a good boy.  Though Ishka knew if she told him that he wouldn’t believe a word of it.

Her eldest’s idiosyncrasies could be fussed with later, though.  Today was more of a day to pay attention to the woman beside her.  Ishka pushed the drink over with one ring covered hand and her face opened with another jagged grin.  “Name’s Ishka.  So, who do you use to get a fit like that?”

“Lwaxana.”  She took the drink in one careful hand.  “And this?  This is the work of a lovely woman on Risa, they have all sorts of talents on their resorts.”  She paused midway to bringing the glass to her lips, looked over the rim and smiled.  “Not that it isn’t a lovely gesture, but exactly what is this drink going to cost me?”

A woman who knew how to deal with Ferengi, Ishka liked her already.  “Normally, a good question, but in this case it was free for me, so I’ll settle for your time.”

“Well, I do like to think that my time’s worth a good bit of latinum.”  Another million brick smile.  Ishka could make a killing figuring out how to market a smile like that.  Lwaxana looked her up and down again, eyes lingering for a moment on the poor fit of the collar.  Her smile twisted briefly into a frown that was _almost_ as brilliant, a rare sight to see.  “You know,” she started, thoughtfully.  “You don’t have to go all the way to Risa just to find a good tailor.  I’ve heard there’s one here that has more than his share of satisfied customers.”

That made Ishka perk up immediately, instantly attentive.  Well.  It seemed Quark had been holding out on her, probably because he didn’t want more people than strictly necessary seeing his mother in such a scandalous state of non-nudity.  She’d have to have words with him.

After the fitting.  He’d fume even more satisfyingly then.

***

As it turned out, Garak’s Clothiers wasn’t all that far from the entrance to Quark’s.  Lwaxana simply led her out around the curve of the Promenade to an unassuming little shop, dimmer inside than the rest.  Not dark, but dim.  Perhaps that was what kept it from her notice in her initial haste to get to her son’s bar, for there was little reason otherwise to pass it over. 

It looked as all clothing shops probably did, she supposed, though as a female Ferengi she never seen one in person.  That alone made it even more appealing then the beautiful array of clothing up front could manage.  Beyond it was an open space, the fitting area, a small room to try on the outfits, everything a tailor’s shop ought to have.

The Cardassian was a surprise though.

Ishka hadn’t even known he was there at first, he moved quietly enough that even sensitive Ferengi ears barely heard his movements as he stepped out from behind… something.  Ishka couldn’t actually say _where_ he’d appeared from.  Just that one moment he wasn’t there and the next he was, smiling – an unnerving expression and not only because of the sharp Cardassian teeth.  A woman who hid something every day of her life recognized a man that did the same, even if that man was a Cardassian.

But Ishka wasn’t here for his secrets.  Just his tailoring.  She smiled back.

The tailor – Garak, she supposed, no one besides the owner would be so at ease in a shop that he could move without even rustling the fabric – gave the slightest tilt of his head in a respectful greeting to the two.  “Ah, and you’re Ishka, am I correct?”  His voice dripped with the recognizable tone of a salesman and he didn’t give Ishka time to ask after how he knew her name before continuing.  “This is a pleasant surprise indeed.  Quark mentioned you would be visiting the last time he came in for a fitting, but I wasn’t sure that you would have the time to stop by my humble establishment.”

That explained things.  “He mentioned me, hm?  You mean he complained about me leaving Ferenginar at all.”  She knew her son well enough to know that Quark voiced very few things without it being some sort of complaint.  At least as far as it related to her.

Garak chuckled and, again, Ishka was struck by his resemblance to a Ferengi businessman trying to court a customer.  There was something comforting about it, honestly.  Made the place feel like home.  “Perhaps complain _would_ be more accurate, but all the same, I’m glad that you’ve made the time.”  His gaze went to Lwaxana next, the turn of his head quick.  The prey instinct still buried deep inside her chest recognized a predator’s motions, despite how well Garak hid it with his friendly exterior.  “And Mrs. Troi.  Always a pleasure, it’s been too long since you’ve come to visit.”

“It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance, I haven’t been on the station since…”  She paused, thinking it over.  “My marriage to Odo, actually.”

Now that caught Ishka’s attention.  Odo.  She recognized the name, knew the face even though she had never spoken to him.  No one sat in Quark’s for more than a few seconds without seeing him lurking around the area.  Ishka hadn’t pinned him as a married man.  Or even interested in such a thing, though she’d hardly seen him focus on anyone but her son.  Lwaxana caught her stare, leaned down to whisper though Ishka would have heard her just as well standing straight.  “It’s a long story, one for later.”  The tone promised an interesting tale indeed, something to be discussed over another set of those ‘family discount’ drinks.

If Garak heard the whispering he pretended not to notice.  “I heard it was a beautiful ceremony, a shame I couldn’t make it.  I pressed Odo for details but he seemed uninterested in sharing them with me.”

Lwaxana laughed, a sound as captivating as her smile.  “I assumed he would be.  I’ll be here for a few days more, perhaps we can discuss it another day.  I brought Ishka here to shop, not to bore her with gossip.”  She paused then, gaze caught on a dress that hung on the mannequin closest to her, fabric blue and shimmering even in the low light.

Garak slipped back into salesman mode as easily as someone would put on a new suit.  “A fine piece, isn’t it?”  Circling around to stand beside the mannequin, his sharp eyes stayed locked on both women.  It seemed Garak didn’t take well to having anyone at his back where he couldn’t watch them, even customers.  “Are you certain you’ll be able to resist it?”  He reached for a cuff of fabric that dangled at the end of the one sleeve, lifting it to show how it would fall, draped from wrist to shoulder.

“Well, I did say we weren’t here for me…”  Lwaxana leaned in all the same, examining it, and let out a little noise of thought, tongue clicking against her teeth.  She looked to Ishka, waiting for her evaluation of it.

Ishka hummed a low noise of her own.  “Think you can make that fit a Ferengi?”  The dress was clearly meant for taller races.  Which, for her, was nearly every other race out there.  She had no doubt that if she wore it as it was, the hem would pile up on the floor around her feet.

Garak scoffed, an exaggerated look of offense coming over his face, a new mask to cover the old.  It seemed all his expressions were like that, interchangeable masks.  She could see how Quark would get carried away talking with him.  “I assure you, I’ve been fitting the Ferengi on this station for several years now, I’ve gotten _quite_ familiar with the species.  Of course I can make it fit you, won’t take more than half an hour I’d say.”

“Every Ferengi on this station is a man, have you practiced on a Ferengi woman before?”

“You can’t possibly be more difficult than making Quark hold still through an entire suit fitting.”  Garak slipped the dress from the mannequin, gesturing with one hand towards the fitting area.  “Come, let me show you.  I’ve always believed demonstration to be more effective than words could ever be.”

***

Garak struck Ishka as a liar, a man made of masks and misdirection.  Perhaps she was right, but one thing that he certainly hadn’t been lying about was his tailoring skills.  Quick, skilled fingers worked at the seams of the dress, taking it from the shapeless form that was several feet too long to one fit to her body like it was made just for her.

The hem fell just above her knees, hugged closer than any clothing she’d ever worn before – there would be a skin rash later, she was sure of it.  Wearing clothes at all had been a new experience, form fitting ones would take even more adjustment.

Hopefully, the final look would be worth it.  Ishka couldn’t tell yet, Garak’s body often blocked the mirror as he moved around her.  So it was Lwaxana’s face she focused on instead, watching as the look in the woman’s eyes became ever more excitable with each of Garak’s precise stitches and cuts.  The dress would have more impact if she saw it all at once rather than catching glimpses in the mirror.

She thought she’d be prepared for it.  The outfit would like fine on her, sure, as fine as any clothes, and she’d made it well known that she saw no shame in being a clothed female, no matter what Ferengi law had to say on the matter.  Though it had taken time to get used to seeing herself covered, unexposed, she’d gotten used to it.

Every glimpse in the mirror before now couldn’t have prepared Ishka for the sight of clothes made for her.

Garak stepped aside the instant he finished and only her own well practiced mask kept the shock from showing on her face.  The dress had been beautiful before but it was seeing it fitted was something entirely different.  It was as tailored as an expensive suit on the Nagus, an outfit that said she was someone to be respected.  A proper businesswoman.

She looked to Lwaxana, raised an arm to let the fabric of the sleeve drape as she posed.  “Well?”

Lwaxana stepped forward, took it between her fingers to feel the texture of the fabric, and grinned.  “It’s beautiful.  It’s also my treat, Mr. Garak, be a darling and take it out of my account, won’t you?”  She looked back to Ishka.  “In exchange for the drink.”

“That’s hardly equal,” Ishka replied, “But then there are plenty more drinks where that first one came from.  We’ll make up the difference.”  The exact meaning of that admission from a Ferengi was likely lost on Lwaxana.  It put Ishka as indebted, owing her.  Not the sort of trust normally given to someone she’d only just met.  It seemed Lwaxana had a way of bringing her guard down.

Ishka could get used to it.


End file.
